Listen With Your Eyes
by Noanne
Summary: A retelling of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, mostly told through the eyes of Edmund Pevensie. Or the one where Edmund meets a prisoner being held by the White Witch, a mute girl who can't even tell him her own name, and turns his life around. (Eventual EDxOC, but not in this specific story. Slow burn.)


**Author's Note:** Well, hi. I haven't written anything in ages, and since it's NaNoWriMo, I thought I'd go back to my roots and write some Narnia fanfiction. I decided I'd post it over here on this account where I haven't posted before because my old fanfics are embarrassing and really lame. This is just for fun and to help me get back into the swing of writing, and if someone happens to enjoy what I do, then all the better. I hope you enjoy, and if you leave a little critique for me it would mean the world. :D

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The year is 1940 and the streets of Finchely, England are quiet and still. The roads are lined by houses with blacked out windows and shutters nailed closed. The streets are empty of the bustle normally present during the day and the whole city has an air of unease about it. The feeling continues well into the night until the sound of a siren blaring cuts through the quiet, sending the citizens into a panic.

The streets come to life as families flee their houses and retreat into shelters built hastily in their back yards. An ominous buzzing sound fills the air as planes fly overhead in the clouds, an unseen but very imminent threat. The first bombs drop, whistling through the air as they fall, bringing the smells of smoke and char with them. The scents float through the air on the wind until they are inescapable.

As the bombs drop in the distance, inching ever closer, a mother runs through the halls of her home, waking her four children. The eldest girl grabs a flashlight and a book off of a shelf next to her before she seizes her younger sister's hand, pulling her out of the room behind her. Their two brothers are already scrambling down the stairs in front of them, yanking on sweaters as they run.

The mother, still in her nightclothes, waves her children urgently towards the shelter when the youngest boy skids to a stop. He freezes and the color drains from his face. Without a backwards glance he turns on his heel and dashes back inside the house. The mother screams after him as her two daughters run past her into the shelter. She gives a pleading look to her eldest son who looks hesitant for only a moment before sprinting towards the doorway.

He scrambles into the sitting room to see his brother snatching a framed photo off of the mantle above the fireplace. He looks out of the window just in time to watch a burning plane as it plunges from the air. The flying machine smashes into the building directly across the street, sending flames shooting into the night sky.

He reacts instinctively and tackles his brother to the ground mere seconds before the glass of the window is raining down above them. The photo slips from the younger boy's hands as they hit the ground, shattering the delicate frame and cracking the glass. He makes a grab for the photograph and his fingers close around it just as he is yanked to his feet.

The two run and don't stop until they are both safe behind the door of the bomb shelter. The youngest is shoved onto one of the small cots lining the walls. He looks up to see his brother sending a glare that could melt ice at him as his sisters stare at him with wide, bewildered eyes. His mother pulls him close and starts to cry as his brother begins to yell about how he could have gotten them all killed with his foolishness. He ignores the shouting and instead looks at the crumpled photograph in his hands, the only one they have of their father in his RAF uniform, and feels tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

The family of five spends the night in the shelter as the sounds of bombs falling slip through the walls and the ground shakes with the force of buildings exploding around them. No one sleeps, too afraid of what may happen if they do. Only when the sounds finally stop as the light of morning creeps through the corners of the shelter do they allow themselves to breathe sighs of relief.

But their relief is short-lived. It is soon replaced by worry and the fear of the unknown. Suitcases line the entryway to the home of the Pevensies, packed prior to the attack. The word that all children of school age are to be evacuated into the countryside had been received earlier that week. For their own safety, the government tells them. The debris lining the streets and fires that have yet to be put out are clear indicators that for once, the government isn't lying to them.

The four children are ushered back into the house by their mother. They cautiously step over broken glass and toppled furniture and make their way to their rooms where they prepare themselves for the journey ahead. The house is eerily silent as they move around collecting last minute items and dressing for the trip.

A few short hours later, suitcases and gas masks in hand, the Pevensie family makes their way through Trafalgar square to the train station. It is crowded with hundreds of other children saying goodbye to their parents. Many of them seem to be in a daze, clearly still affected by the attack.

"Everything will be okay, Lucy. You'll see," Helen Pevensie says as she pins a piece of paper with a name and destination to the coat of her youngest. She pats the girl's cheek at her disbelieving look. "If you keep an open mind, you may even enjoy it."

"I don't want to enjoy it if you aren't there, mum," Lucy replies in a small voice. Helen keeps her expression in check and forces a smile.

"You'll have your siblings to keep you busy. Before you know it, you'll be back home with all kinds of stories to tell about the fun you had," She promises before standing. She turns to pin a label to her second youngest's coat.

"You will be good, won't you, Ed?" She asks. He doesn't speak, but turns away, refusing to look at her. She sighs and lifts her arms to pull him into a hug, but changes her mind at the expression on his face.

When she turns to Susan, the girl already has her own label pinned to her coat, and to that of her brother Peter's. She tilts her head and gives them a small, fond smile. "What am I going to do without you to keep my head on straight?"

"It's like you said, mum," Susan replies. "We'll be back before you know it."

"I suppose I'll have to find something to do to pass the time, won't I? Perhaps I'll take up knitting," Helen muses. Peter snorts next to her and she gives him a questioning look.

"The last time you tried to take up a hobby, it was baking, and you nearly burnt the house down. Leave the hands on stuff to Susan," He says mildly. Helen lets out a small laugh and nods her head. She opens her mouth to respond with a joke of her own, but is cut off by the harsh whistle of a train.

" _Promise_ me you'll look after the others," Helen says to her eldest as she grips his shoulder tightly. "Promise me you'll keep them out of trouble."

"I will, mum," Peter swears to her. He swallows the lump in his throat and forces a smile. "I always do, don't I?"

"Be good, all of you. I love you, and I'll write you as soon as I can," Helen says, tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head to clear it and then gives them one last supportive smile before ushering them back into the crowd. "You should hurry, or you'll miss your train."

"And that would be a shame," Edmund mutters bitingly, earning himself a sharp jab to the ribs by Susan. Helen bites her tongue. Out of all of her children, Edmund is the one she is most concerned about. He never has dealt with change as easily as the others. The evacuation would be hard on him, but there isn't anything to be done at this point.

Helen stops and gives her children one last goodbye hug before they board the train. Peter leads the four of them into the first empty compartment he can find. He hefts their luggage onto a shelf above the seats as the train's whistle shrieks once more and the train eases into motion, leaving the four of them to settle in for the long ride ahead.


End file.
